


Breaking Free

by Fandoms_Are_Life37



Series: The War of Insurrection [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate History, America lost his revolution, America/England Feels (Hetalia), Angst, Brother Feels, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Love, Brothers America & Canada (Hetalia), Canada loses his shit, Canada snaps, Flashbacks, Franada if you squint, Historical Hetalia, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It's angsty idk what to tell you guys, One Shot, Revolutionary War, Sequel, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25904974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandoms_Are_Life37/pseuds/Fandoms_Are_Life37
Summary: Canada hears the news about America and snaps
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Series: The War of Insurrection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1879981
Comments: 9
Kudos: 60





	Breaking Free

**Author's Note:**

> Requested sequel for HetaliaIsCool
> 
> Word count: 2,067
> 
> Estimated Read Time: 16 minutes
> 
> Warnings: Major character death, implied/referenced rape, implied/referenced suicide, implied/referenced character death, implied/referenced abuse, angst

Canada knew better than to talk back. He knew better than to tell England what he thought. He was a colony, after all, and colonies don’t get opinions. Everyone knew what happened when America formed some, and he didn’t want to end up on house arrest, too. Then he got the news from England, and he felt tremors in his obedience. 

“You’re lying to me. You’d better be lying, England. Tell me you’re just making a bad joke.” 

“I’m not, Canada. He’s gone. I’m sorry.” 

Being calm in front of the empire that owned him was always his go-to move, and he was afraid of being vulnerable. The last time he had cried in the presence of someone else was when America held him while he sobbed at the loss of France. 

_“Shhhh, it’s okay, just cry it out.”_

_“I c- can’t! I can’t be England’s; I just can’t!”_

_America’s grip around him tightened, and he kissed the top of his brother’s head. “I’m right here, Canada, I swear. I’m not going anywhere.”_

_“I’m French! Not British!”_

_“No. You’re Canadian,” America said firmly. “Don’t let them take that from you. Empire or not, they are not your identity. You are your own person, Canada.”_

_“Not anymore! England’s going to take all the things I had! What if my people have to change religions? What if he makes me pay for the war’s damages? I can’t!”_

_His fingers carded through Canada’s hair, and he hushed him gently, not allowing him to fall apart completely. Because he couldn’t be ruined if America was there, holding him together. It was at that moment that Canada decided there was no one in the whole world he loved more than his brother._

_“I’ve got you,” America assured. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. As long as I’m here, you’re going to be okay.”_

_“Promise?”_

_“Promise.”_

Now, tears were leaking out of Canada’s eyes, but this time, the person witnessing them wasn’t his brother. It was the one person Canada hated more than anyone else on Earth. So he bit his lip and stemmed the flow, refusing to be weak. 

“W- What happened?” He stuttered out. 

“He took his own life,” England clarified, wrapping his arms around himself uncomfortably. “Two days ago.” 

For years, ever since England snatched him away from France, Canada used cold indifference to convey his hatred. But now, today, standing in his living room and staring back  
at England, who kept his eyes glued to something behind Canada (he couldn’t even look him in the eyes, the coward), he felt his brittle apathy snap. 

“Fuck you, England!” He screamed, startling his mother country. “Fuck you! This is all your fault!” 

“Canada-” He began in warning, but Canada barely heard him. 

“If you had set him free, he’d be okay! But you ruined him! Every single day, you broke him a little more! And now he’s dead, and it’s your fault!” 

England gritted his teeth. “That’s no way to speak to-” 

“You killed him! He may have committed suicide, but you’re the one that drove him to it! You murdered my brother!” 

“Silence!” England commanded, knowing the exact tone that always made his colonies fall in line. “I will hear no more of this. I sympathise with your distress, but America made  
his own choices, and-” 

“No!” 

England blinked, stunned. He’d never given Canada an order in that tone and seen him refuse. Never. “Canada, you are my subject, and-” 

“Shut up! How dare you speak over me? How dare you stand there and pull the ‘mother country’ bullshit? How dare you act like you’re better than me just because you’re in charge of me? America was right all along, you know? You’re a tyrant, and there’s nothing I want more than to see your empire fall.” 

“Canada!” 

“No. Don’t even try it. You abused him, sucked every last bit of happiness out of him, and left him to kill himself, so I’m not going to listen to a word you say. I’m done.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean… I mean, consider this my own declaration of independence.” Canada stepped closer and closer until England found himself backing away. Venomously, he snarled, “I  
will tear your empire apart brick by brick with my own two hands. I will burn your cities, crush your armies, and kill every single soldier you throw my way until you have nothing left. Maybe then you’ll know what it feels like to be me right now.” 

England opened his mouth to protest, but Canada shoved past him and marched out of the house, eyes stinging with hot, unshed tears that began to spill, determined to do  
what America couldn’t. 

Because unlike his brother, he set off on his revolution without an ounce of love in his heart for the empire he was determined to destroy. 

***

_“It’s going to be okay,” Canada whispered, dabbing sweat of America’s brow._

_America lay weakly on the cot, coughing occasionally and slowly opening his eyes. “Canada?”_

_“Yep. It’s me.”_

_His eyes watered immediately. “I’m sorry. I tried, I tried to take Quebec, but my armies couldn’t get far enough.”_

_“Shhh, I know. It’s alright.”_

_“No, it’s not. I can’t save you from England. I can’t free you.”_

_Canada gently kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry about me. You have to gain your own independence. You’re spreading your armies too thin by trying to rescue me.”_

_“But-”_

_“Don’t argue with me,” He said in a teasing tone. “Not when I’m the one who is taking care of you.”_

_America furrowed his brow as if he just realized what was happening. Considering how delirious he was earlier, Canada wouldn’t be surprised if that were true. “What’s going on? Why does everything hurt?”_

_His brother winced and brushed back some of America’s hair so that it didn’t stick to his sweaty skin. “You’re running a high fever, and you’re sick.”_

_“Why?”_

_“I… They’re burning a city.”_

_He sucked in a breath and tried to sit up. “What? Which one?”_

_Canada pushed him back down, murmuring comforting words to get him to relax again. Then, he answered, “New York.”_

_America squeezed his eyes shut, taking shaky breaths. “Oh, god.”_

_“It’s going to be okay, America. Just rest. Heal. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere until you’ve recovered.”_

_“Does England know where you are?”_

_“No, he thinks I’m in Toronto. Don’t worry about him. I’ll take care of it.”_

Canada looked out at the burning city of London. He watched each building be engulfed in flames without any emotion. He knew he should have felt bad. He was once a British colony, so watching the Palace of Westminister’s windows burst from the heat should have upset him, London Bridge succumbing to the raging fire should have filled him with remorse, Big Ben toppling into the River Thames should have made his heartache, and the collapse of the London Eye should have made him sick. 

But the devastation did nothing to make him feel, so he just sat back down correctly in his seat and looked at the helicopter driver. “Time to go.” 

“Yes, sir,” the Canadian answered, turning the chopper around and leaving the billowing cloud of smoke that rose from England’s capital behind. 

***

France smiled at Canada. “You know, I would never have believed it to be possible if I hadn’t seen it for myself, but you’re actually doing it.” 

“So will you ally with me and recognize me as a country?” Canada asked, unwilling to beat around the bush. 

“I think so, mon ami. You know there’s nothing I want to see more than England to surrender.” 

It reminded him of a situation he knew his brother was in a few hundred years ago. He’d done the same thing, but this time, the rebelling colony allying with France to defeat the British Empire had no reservations about his decision. 

“I think you’re going to win,” France decided. “So I’d be happy to support you. This will not be like the last time.” 

“No,” Canada stated. “It will not be.” 

_Canada beamed at the letter in his hands. America had finally been able to send him a message, and it bore the best news he could possibly imagine. France had allied himself with America._

_There was no possible way his brother would lose now unless England found allies. One thing was for sure: Canada would not be one of them._

_“Congratulations, America,” He said, though his brother was hundreds of miles away. “You’ve got this.”_

***

Canada knelt in the mud, eyes burning with hatred and body battered with bruises. England stood above him, gun pressed to his forehead and gasping for breath. “It’s over, Canada,” He declared. “I win.”

_“What do you mean he lost?” Canada asked, staring at France with wide eyes._

_His colonizer sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m upset, too.”_

_“Where is he? Is he okay? His he alive?” Canada demanded, a flood of questions rushing out of him, sometimes stepping over each other. “Is he hurt? What’s going to happen to him? What did England say? Why did he lose? When-”_

_“Canada, I can’t answer your questions if you do not give me the chance to speak,” France chided. He sank onto the chaise lounge with a defeated look in his eyes. “He’s fine, just scraped up. England took him to London, and he’s on house arrest there.”_

_“House arrest? For how long?”_

_“At the pleasure of the king.”_

_Canada nearly broke down. Everyone knew what that meant. America was never going to get to leave. “You mean he’s trapped in a house that’s not even on his own soil? That’ll weaken him!”_

_“Not just any house. England’s house.”_

_England was America’s ex; everyone knew that. And anyone could put two and two together when it came to their new situation._

_He pressed a hand over his mouth in shock, barely keeping it together. “No…”_

_“Maybe you’ll be allowed to see him in a century or two. Glass half full, Canada.”_

Canada glared up at England. “No. It’s not over.” 

In an instant, he kicked his leg, sending England to his knees, and snatched the gun from his hands. The tables had turned, and England was now the one on the ground. 

“What are you fighting for?” Canada demanded. “I’ve freed all of your other colonies. Australia, Egypt, India, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales have all taken up arms against you to help me free everyone else after I liberated them. No one else has risen a finger to help you. They’re all thankful to be separated from you. Your country is broke, your capital is ash, and all of Europe has chosen to take my side against you. So why do you insist on continuing to fight like this?” 

“What do you want me to do, Canada?” He asked, shaking his head. “Give up?” 

“Among other things.” 

“Like what?” England scoffed, rolling his eyes. He was just as prissy sitting in the mud at the mercy of his rebelling colony as always. 

“Recognize our independence. All of ours.” 

“No.” 

“Why not? Pretty much every other country has chosen to recognize our independence. You are the only one that stubbornly refuses to do so.” 

England swallowed dryly. “What else do you want from me?”

“An apology.” 

“What?” 

“An apology,” Canada hissed. “I want you to say you’re sorry for what you did to America.” 

“Is that what this is, then? You’ve done all of this for what? To get revenge for him?” England asked, laughing bitterly. 

Canada shook his head. “No. I did all this to avenge him. Now apologize to me. Tell me you’re sorry.” 

England didn’t speak for a moment. Then, hesitantly, he said, “Do you think I’m not?” 

“Huh?” 

“Do you think I’m not sorry?” Another pause. His voice cracked when he continued. “Canada, I miss him every single day. I hate myself for what I did to him. There’s not a night that passes when I don’t lay awake, thinking about him and how horrible I was to him. If I could trade my life for his, I would. But I can’t. America is gone, and this war won’t change that.” 

“No, but it’ll make me feel better.” With that, Canada put his finger on the trigger and pulled. 

But it was to be expected. Sooner or later, all empires fall.


End file.
